ROUND THE YEAR
WITH THE STARS
THE CHIEF BEAUTIES OF
THE STARRY HEAVENS AS
SEEN WITH THE NAKED EYE
BY
GARRETT P. SERVISS
AUTHOR OF
“ASTRONOMY WITH THE NAKED EYE”
“CURIOSITIES OF THE SKY” ETC.
WITH MAPS SHOWING THE ASPECT OF
THE SKY IN EACH OF THE FOUR SEASONS
AND CHARTS REVEALING THE OUTLINES
OF THE CONSTELLATIONS AND THE
DESIGNATIONS OF THE PRINCIPAL STARS
[Illustration]
NEW YORK AND LONDON
HARPER _&_ BROTHERS PUBLISHERS
MCMX
Copyright, 1910, by HARPER & BROTHERS
Published September, 1910.
_Printed in the United States of America_
CONTENTS
CHAP. PAGE
PREFACE 7
INTRODUCTION 9
I. THE EVENING SKY AT THE VERNAL EQUINOX 21
II. THE EVENING SKY AT THE SUMMER SOLSTICE 50
III. THE EVENING SKY AT THE AUTUMNAL EQUINOX 71
IV. THE EVENING SKY AT THE WINTER SOLSTICE 93
V. THE PLANETS 118
APPENDIX 129
PRONUNCIATION OF STAR AND CONSTELLATION NAMES 141
INDEX 143
LIST OF CHARTS
PAGE
CHART I. THE VERNAL EVENING SKY 23
CHART II. THE SUMMER EVENING SKY 51
CHART III. THE AUTUMN EVENING SKY 73
CHART IV. THE WINTER EVENING SKY 95
CHART V. THE FIRST SIX HOURS FROM THE VERNAL
EQUINOX 134
CHART VI. FROM VI H. TO XII H. FROM THE VERNAL
EQUINOX 135
CHART VII. FROM XII H. TO XVIII H. FROM THE VERNAL
EQUINOX 136
CHART VIII. FROM XVIII H. TO XXIV H. FROM THE
VERNAL EQUINOX 137
CHART IX. POLAR CONSTELLATIONS FROM VI H. TO
XVIII H. 138
CHART X. POLAR CONSTELLATIONS FROM XVIII H. TO
VI H. 139
PREFACE
This book represents an attempt to cultivate the love of the stars, and
to offer a guiding hand to all those who are willing to believe that
some of the most exquisite joys of life are to be found, like scattered
and unregarded gems, waiting to be picked up by any chance wayfarer
who, without special knowledge, or optical aids, or mathematical
attainments, or any of the paraphernalia or advantages of the
professional astronomer, will simply turn his eyes to the sky and open
his mind to its plain teachings and its supernal inspirations.
The writer’s only real excuse for appearing again in this particular
field is that he has never yet finished a book, and seen it go forth,
without feeling that he had overlooked, or cast aside, or of necessity
omitted a multitude of things quite as interesting and important as
any he had touched upon. Accordingly, he yields once more to the lure
of this inexhaustible and illimitable subject, and strives again to
find expression for the thoughts which it continually awakens, and
to exhibit, however imperfectly, the endless procession of marvels
which stream before him who knows and loves the stars like a dazzling
_rivière_ of brilliants.
This book in no way duplicates another work of the same hand,
_Astronomy with the Naked Eye_. In _that_ the effort was to revive
the romance of the constellations by retelling their fascinating
history, their mythology, their immemorial legends and traditions, and
indicating their poetic background in the presence of the imaginary
figures which, “from times of which the memory of man runneth not to
the contrary,” have been associated with them; in _this_ the writer
tries to draw the reader into more intimate relations with the stars
by dwelling upon their individual peculiarities and beauties, and the
impressions which either singly or in constellated groups they make
upon the mind of the beholder. Surely there is not another field of
human contemplation so wondrously rich as astronomy! It is so easy
to reach, so responsive to every mood, so stimulating, uplifting,
abstracting, and infinitely consoling. Everybody may not be a chemist,
a geologist, a mathematician, but everybody may be and ought to be,
in a modest, personal way, an astronomer, for star-gazing is a great
medicine of the soul. There is the writer’s text.
INTRODUCTION
The charts illustrating this book have been drawn by the writer
especially to meet the needs of beginners--of those who, feeling what
a void in their intellectual life ignorance of the stars has created,
would now fill that void, and thus round out their spiritual being with
some knowledge of Nature on her most majestic and yet most beautiful
and winning side.
On account of the necessarily diminutive scale of the charts,
everything has been omitted from them which did not seem essential.
But for the purpose in view they gain by this process of exclusion,
for with more details they would have been confusing. It is the
broad, general aspect of the sky with which the beginner must first
familiarize himself. At the start the heavens appear to him to be
filled with an innumerable multitude of scintillating sparks, scattered
everywhere in disorder. But with a little attention he perceives
that there is discipline in this host, and immediately the discovery
gives him pleasure and awakens his admiration, as the perception of
order always does. The great leaders of the firmament come forth,
unmistakable, plainly recognizable, and thereupon the rank and
file fall into their places. Then the ineffable beauty of the whole
assemblage bursts like a revelation upon the mind. This revelation
is not for the dull in spirit, but he who has once had it becomes
henceforth, and even in spite of previous prejudice or indifference, a
devotee of the stars, with a zeal flaming brighter with every swing of
the pendulum of his years.
In the four circular charts representing the aspect of the heavens
respectively at the Vernal Equinox, the Summer Solstice, the Autumnal
Equinox, and the Winter Solstice, few stars fainter than the fourth
magnitude are included, and not all even of that magnitude, because the
sole purpose is to enable the beginner to recognize the constellations
by their characteristic groupings of stars and their relative
situations in the sky. The insuperable difficulty is to picture the
_hemispherical_ sky on a _flat_ page. A certain amount of distortion
cannot be avoided, and the reader’s imagination must supply the effect
of perspective. He must always remember that the centre of the chart
stands for the middle of the sky _overhead_, and that the circular
boundary represents the full round of the horizon, from east through
south, west, and north, to east again. If he is comparing the chart
with the sky while facing south, he should hold the chart upright as
it is printed in the book; if he makes the comparison while facing
north, he should turn the chart upside down. If he lies on his back
with his head to the north (and in no other way can one get so vast an
impression of the starry dome), and holds the chart over his head, it
will represent the entire vault of the firmament.
The names of the constellations will be found on the charts, and
also the individual names of the most celebrated stars, but the
constellation boundaries are not shown, because, in nine cases out
of ten, the precise limits of a constellation are not important for
the beginner to know, and to search for them would simply lead to
confusion. As he progresses in his knowledge of the sky any uncertainty
about the constellation to which particular stars belong can be settled
by consulting the six charts, drawn to a larger scale, at the end of
the book. On _these_ charts more of the small stars are shown, and in
addition there will be found the Greek letters which astronomers attach
to the principal stars of each constellation for the sake of ready
identification. On these charts, too, the constellation boundaries
will be seen, indicated by dotted lines. The tracing of these lines is
more or less a matter of arbitrary choice. There are no international
boundary disputes among the heavenly powers, and the frontier lines
may run anywhere, provided only that they do not include in one
constellation any stars which by common usage, or prescription, belong
to another. The constellations have been reshaped many times in the
past. The “geography of the heavens” has known as many changes as that
of the earth, the ambition of the old astronomers being sometimes as
insatiable as that of founders of terrestrial kingdoms and empires.
About three centuries ago the starry sky was “Christianized,” St.
Matthew, St. Peter, St. John, St. Joseph, St. Michael, St. Stephen,
St. Gabriel, St. Mary Magdalen, St. Katharine, together with Noah,
Aaron, Job, and Eve, taking the places of the heathen gods, goddesses,
and heroes in the sky, while Saturn became Adam, Jupiter Moses, Mars
Joshua, Mercury Elias, Venus St. John Baptist (!), the Moon the Virgin
Mary, and the Sun Christ (see Appendix). It is not an unheard-of
thing in uranography (“description of the heavens”; analogue to
geography) for a star, or a group of stars, to change allegiance, or
even to belong to two constellations at the same time. The bright star
Alpheratz is still an example of this double nationality, for, although
it shines on the head of Andromeda and is her jewel _par excellence_,
yet her neighbor Pegasus also lays claim to the star, and uranographers
so far admit the justice of his claim that they call Alpheratz,
according to circumstances, either Alpha (α) Andromedæ or Delta (δ)
Pegasi.
For many of their purposes astronomers find no use for the
constellations, preferring to identify the stars by their position in
right ascension and declination (equivalent to longitude and latitude),
and in the great modern _Durchmusterungs_, or star catalogues, this
plan is universally followed. Still, the constellations afford a very
convenient classification of the stars, and probably they will never
be abandoned even by professional astronomers; while from another
standpoint they never can be abandoned, because they are among the
most ancient and precious of human documents, valuable for history and
for the understanding of mythology, and resistlessly charming in their
poetic associations.
But, to return to the description of the charts, the reader should be
informed as to the meaning of the lines shown upon them, and of the
indications found round their borders. In the four circular charts
the closed curve crossing the sky from right to left represents the
equator of the heavens, which is directly over the equator of the
earth; the vertical line through the centre shows the meridian, or
north and south line, which, so to speak, follows the observer wherever
he may go, occupying the same place in the sky, _at the same hour of
local time_, in all longitudes; and the dotted curve is the ecliptic,
or the apparent annual path of the sun through the sky. The crossing
points of the equator and the ecliptic are respectively the Vernal and
the Autumnal Equinox, where the sun is at the two dates in the year
when day and night are of equal length; and the farthest northern and
southern points of the ecliptic are respectively the Summer and the
Winter Solstice, where the sun is at the times of the longest and the
shortest days in our hemisphere. These four fundamental points are all
shown on the charts. Around the border the hours of right ascension are
indicated by Roman numerals. Each hour corresponds to 15° of space, or
one twenty-fourth of a circle of the sphere. The hours begin at the
Vernal Equinox, which is graphically described as the “Greenwich of the
Sky.”
In the larger-scale charts at the end of the book the hours of right
ascension are indicated at the bottom, and the degrees of north and
south declination (the sign + standing for north and - for south) are
shown at the side. In both cases the declination is reckoned from
the equator. The four oblong charts of this series, taken together,
represent the entire circuit of sky between 40° north and 40° south
declination, and the two semicircular charts, taken together, show the
stars within 50° of the north pole. Thus the entire set of six charts
exhibits the complete dome of the heavens from the north pole to 40°
south declination. In passing from the oblong to the semicircular
charts it is only necessary to bring the hours of right ascension into
accord. In the semicircular charts the hours will be found round the
curved borders.
Each of the four circular charts in the body of the book represents the
aspect of the _evening_ sky at one of the equinoctial or solstitial
epochs. To be more precise, these charts show the sky as it appears,
at about the latitude of New York, at 10 P.M., on, respectively, March
20th (the Vernal Equinox), June 21st (the Summer Solstice), September
23d (the Autumnal Equinox), and December 22d (the Winter Solstice).
But the reader must not think that it is necessary to confine himself
to the exact latitude, date, or hour just mentioned. Undoubtedly it
would be better for the beginner to do that approximately, but it is
not essential. The effect of a change of latitude is, perhaps, the
least important. If the observer is farther south than about 40° north
latitude, the southern stars will appear higher in the sky than they
are shown in the charts, and some of the stars close to the northern
horizon will sink from view. If, on the other hand, he is farther north
(as in Canada or Northern Europe), the northern stars will appear
higher, and some of those near the southern horizon will be invisible.
But if he confines his attention to the stars and constellations
represented in the central parts of the charts (which he should, in any
case, do for other reasons), the effect of the shift due to difference
of latitude will not be found very serious.
As to the effects of a departure from the hours and dates for which the
charts are drawn, they, too, can readily be allowed for. Suppose that,
without changing the date, the reader makes his observations an hour
earlier than that given, say at 9 P.M., March 20th. Then he will find
that some of the eastern stars, seen along the left-hand edge of the
chart when it is held upright, have not yet come into view above the
horizon, while other stars, not seen on the chart drawn for that date,
are visible above the horizon in the west. To the stars thus carried
out of, or brought into, view he should pay no attention; he will find
them again on other charts when they are better placed for observation.
Next, suppose that without changing the hour of observation he changes
the date, and instead of observing on the 20th of March he observes
on the 5th. Then he will notice precisely the same difference that
was manifest when his observation was made an hour too early on March
20th--_i. e._, some of the eastern stars on the chart will not yet have
risen, and other stars, not on that particular chart, will be visible
in the west. Although at first all this may be a little confusing to
the beginner, he will soon find that he can make due allowance for the
changes of aspect. The whole matter becomes very simple when it is
remembered that the heavens have a double revolution toward the west;
one of these revolutions, due to the earth’s rotation on its axis,
being effected in twenty-four hours, and the other, due to the earth’s
revolution round the sun, requiring an entire year. One hour of the
daily revolution (represented by an hour of right ascension) produces
the same effect on the position of the stars as two weeks of the annual
revolution; or two hours of the first correspond to one month of the
second.
If the observations are made at a later date or a later hour than
those indicated on the chart, the changes will occur in the reverse
order--_i. e._, western stars will have disappeared and eastern stars
will have come up into view.
I particularly wish to impress upon the beginner the needlessness of
being troubled about these discrepancies. He can avoid all possibility
of perplexity by fitting his observations to the exact times of
the charts. As I have already said, a difference of a few degrees
in his latitude on the earth may be disregarded. The charts, with a
slight allowance for the shift of position of the extreme northern
and southern stars, are available for any of the middle latitudes of
the northern hemisphere. And if the effects of a change of hour or
date prove in the least confusing, the beginner has only to await the
given date and the given hour, and all will be clear. Then, as soon as
he has become familiar with a few of the leading constellations, the
others, which in themselves are not so easily recognizable, will fall
into their proper places, after which there can be no possibility of
confusion. In fact, much less effort is required to become familiar
with the aspect of the starry sky than is demanded for a similar
acquaintance with the fundamental data of botany, mineralogy, geology,
or any other of the observational branches of natural science.
It was at first the intention to indicate the course of the Milky Way
on the circular charts by dotted outlines, but this was abandoned in
view of the restricted space. Any one can easily trace the meanderings
and branchings of this starry scarf, the contemplation of which carries
the mind to greater heights of intellectual perspective than any other
phenomenon of the world of matter. If the reader has the good-fortune
to be situated where artificial lights do not interfere with the
splendor of the heavens, he can observe the course of the Milky
Way on any clear night; and, if he possesses skill in delineation,
he may make charts of it and its offshoots which will be of real
value. Better still if he has the means of photographing it. Here is
a non-mathematical field of astronomy which is ripe for the harvest,
and in which the laborers are few. The Milky Way is so full of wonders
that centuries of observation and study cannot exhaust them. There is
nothing more impressive than to see how it often follows curves of
lucid stars as if some mysterious attraction were drawing it toward
them; and yet it itself consists of stars.
A few more words of practical advice to the beginner. Let him, at
first, confine himself to the bright and conspicuous stars and the
striking groups shown in the charts, assigning each to its proper
constellation. When he has become familiar with these in their
broadest aspects, he can turn to the charts at the end of the book and
familiarize himself with the constellation boundaries. After that, if
he wishes to go further, as he almost certainly will, he can obtain a
large star atlas, furnish himself with a telescope, and open up a new
side of his life which will make him rejoice to be, for a few short
years, a dweller on a planet inhabited by beings intelligent enough
to lift their eyes above the horizon and to feed their minds with the
inspirations of the universe.
Yet another thing, which may be a novelty to many, and which is
sure to afford unexpected pleasure--when you have fairly learned
the constellations, take a mirror and study them by reflection.
This is a counsel of intimacy. Orion will seem less remote and more
comprehensible when his living image is enclosed in a frame, which
you can hold on your lap like an album. There is something startling
in the sight of the starry heavens under your feet. I once enjoyed
the sensation in perfection while stalking deer in a boat at midnight
on the placid bosom of a forest pond. The water was as motionless as
so many acres of black glass, and I forgot to look for the deer, in
the shaft of light from the hooded “flare” at the bow, when we seemed
to be drifting out into an ocean of ether, in the middle of the sky,
with stars below as well as stars above. When we silently crossed the
pond, and got far from the shores, the sensation was overpowering;
it took one’s breath away. We drifted right over the Milky Way, and
Vega, Altair, and the “Northern Cross” gleamed beneath the keel. Be
sure that your mirror is freshly silvered and clean, and remember the
reversals of position which all reflections produce. If you hold the
mirror before you inclined downward, the position of objects in the sky
will be reversed top for bottom; if you hold it inclined upward, so as
to see objects behind your head, they will be reversed right for left.
With these precautions you will find the mirror a great convenience
for studying constellations which are nearly overhead. It is the
principle of the “diagonal prism” employed with telescopes, and of the
hand-mirrors used by many visitors at the Vatican Palace to view with
comfort the ceiling pictures of Michael Angelo in the Sistine Chapel.
Thus the sky becomes an atlas, and you can study its living charts at
leisure.
ROUND THE YEAR WITH THE STARS
I
THE EVENING SKY AT THE VERNAL EQUINOX
The year has its morning no less unmistakable in its characteristic
features than the dawn of the day. The earth and all of its inhabitants
feel the subtle influences of the dawning year, and Nature awakes
at their touch. This annual morning comes when the sun transits the
equator, moving north, at the beginning of his long summer tour, about
the 20th of March. This is the epoch of the Vernal Equinox, when the
springs of life begin, once more, to flow. Then the sun truly rises
on the northern hemisphere. Then the mighty world of the north, which
Providence has made the chief abode of vital organisms on this planet,
rouses itself and shakes off the apathy of winter, and men, animals,
and plants, each after their manner, renew their activities, and in
many cases their very existence. This annual reawakening is one of
the profoundest phenomena of nature, and there are secrets in it which
science has not yet penetrated.
Bliss Carman has beautifully pictured the terrestrial charms of the
vernal season in his “Spring’s Saraband”:
“Over the hills of April,
With soft winds hand in hand,
Impassionate and dreamy-eyed
Spring leads her saraband.
Her garments float and gather
And swirl along the plain,
Her headgear is the golden sun,
Her cloak the silver rain.”
But why do not the poets see and express the hyperphysical charm of
the spring evenings? When the light of the vernal day has faded the
stars come forth, and in the quality of their shining reduplicate and
heighten the impressions left by the quickening landscapes. More than
half is lost if this be missed. But perhaps this side of nature is too
transcendent even for poetry. One can behold but not tell it. Emerson
has come nearest to its expression, and he puts it in prose:
“The grass grows, the buds burst, the meadow is spotted with fire and
gold in the tint of the flowers. The air is full of birds, and sweet
with the breath of the pine, the balm-of-Gilead, and the new hay.
_Night brings no gloom to the heart with its welcome shade._ Through
the transparent darkness the stars pour their almost spiritual rays.
Man under them seems a young child, and his huge globe a toy. The cool
night bathes the world as with a river, and prepares his eyes again
for the crimson dawn.”
[Illustration: CHART I--THE VERNAL EVENING SKY]
There was not only poetic but logical fitness in the old English
custom, abandoned since 1751, of dating the opening of the year from
the last week of March. How can the real birth of the year be imagined
to occur when all nature is still deep in slumber under the January
snows? The seasons are manifestly the children of the sun, waxing and
waning with his strength, and surely that one should be reckoned the
eldest which is the first birth of his vivific springtime rays. It
seems remarkable that the beginning of the year in ancient times, when
men felt more keenly than we do now the symbolism of natural phenomena,
was not more frequently fixed at, or near, the Vernal Equinox, and I
suspect some defect in our information on this subject. In Attica,
George Cornewell Lewis tells us, the year began at the Summer Solstice.
But this was to make the second of the sun’s seasonal offspring the
senior, thus ignoring the just claim of the true heir, the season
of buds. In Sparta and Macedonia, according to the same authority,
the year began with the Autumnal Equinox, which was still worse, for
in summer the year is at the zenith of its life, while in autumn it
is already stumbling toward the tomb. In Bœotia, at Delphi, and in
Bithynia they contradicted nature more decidedly, as we do to-day, by
making the year begin at the Winter Solstice, when the chilled world
is yet asleep. The Romans adopted this plan eventually, but it is
interesting to observe that they had an older custom of beginning the
year in March, which many cherished in their domestic life as well
as for some legal purposes, after the lawful opening of the year had
been fixed on the 1st of January. And finally _we_ have perpetuated
the illogical system of absolutely reversing nature’s rule in the
succession of the seasons by making the year begin about nine days
after the Winter Solstice. But in spite of calendars and laws nature
prevails, and everybody instinctively feels that the true beginning
of the year is in the season when the currents of life resume their
youthful flow. At any rate, however it may be with strictly terrestrial
affairs, that is the time when the call of the stars becomes the most
insistent and irresistible. Accordingly the epoch of the Vernal Equinox
is chosen for our opening chapter. But the reader at the commencement
of his star-gazing is not confined to this season; he can begin at any
time convenient to him.
To avoid misapprehension it is important to point out that our concern
is not with that half of the heavens which the sun illumines when he
crosses the equator, coming north, at the Vernal Equinox, but with
the diametrically opposite half, where in countless multitudes shine
his fellow suns--his peers, his inferiors, and his superiors--turning
physical night into intellectual day. Accordingly, in Chart I we see
not that part of the sky which contains the point called the Vernal
Equinox, but the opposite part, where the sun pursues his course when
he is declining from the Summer Solstice toward the Autumnal Equinox.
The chart represents the appearance of the sky at 10 P.M. on the 20th
of March (see Introduction). It also represents the sky as it appears
about 11.30 P.M. at the beginning of March, about 9 P.M. the first week
of April, and 8 P.M. about April 20th.
Let us, then, near one of these dates and hours, go out-of-doors and
transport ourselves to the universe. Why does not everybody feel the
thrill that comes to the astronomer when, with eager expectation,
he watches the fading sunset light, the slow withdrawal of the vast
curtain of illuminated air which for twelve hours has hidden the
prodigious marvel of the spangled heavens, and the first peering
forth of the great stars? I believe that everybody _does_ feel it
when he gives himself the opportunity and abandons his mind to its
own reflections--but so few embrace the opportunity or encourage the
reflections!
Select, if possible, a high place, where the eyes can range round the
whole horizon unobstructed. Then try to seize the entire view at once,
as one glances for the first time at the map of a new country. Get
the _ensemble_ by sweeping all around the sky, not pausing to note
details, but catching at a glance the location of the brighter stars
and those that form striking groups. Note where the Milky Way runs, a
faint, silvery zone at this season, arched across the western half of
the firmament, hanging like starry gossamers in places, brilliant in
the northwest, but becoming fainter as it dips toward the southwestern
horizon--a mere anticipation of its summer splendor, hiding its light
and fading away as it approaches the imperial presence of Sirius.
Notice the great hexagon of first magnitude stars that surrounds Orion
in the west--Sirius, Rigel, Aldebaran, Capella, Castor and Pollux, and
Procyon marking the angles, and Betelgeuse glittering not far from the
centre of the figure. Observe Regulus with the “Sickle” of Leo on the
meridian. Look for the glimmer of the “Beehive” in Cancer, between
Gemini and Leo, and for the pentangular head of Hydra beneath it. Still
lower you will see the reddish gleam of the starry serpent’s heart,
Cor Hydræ, or Alphard, and then, running eastward, and dipping ever
nearer the horizon, the long, winding line of his stars passing under
the overset cup of Crater and the quadrilateral of Corvus, the “Crow,”
until they disappear, unended, in the southeast, for from mid-heaven to
the horizon there is not space enough to display all of these beautiful
coils, which take a kind of life as you watch them.
Away over in the east, close to the ecliptic, you will see Virgo with
her diamond, Spica, flashing in her hand. You are now facing east;
to your left, then, north of Spica, glows great Arcturus, with his
attendants shaping the figure of Boötes. Of Arcturus, a star that among
a million finds no rival, we shall speak more particularly elsewhere.
Farther to the left, beyond Boötes, shines the exquisite “Northern
Crown,” Corona Borealis. That too will claim attention in a later
chapter. The square of Hercules is just above the horizon below the
Crown in the northeast, and to its left, as you face north, is seen
the diamond-shaped head of Draco, the “Great Dragon” that Athena
was fabled to have entangled with the axis of the world. His stars
wind upward between the “Dippers”--the “Little Dipper,” which has the
Polestar at the end of its handle, and the “Great Dipper,” which, brim
downward, shines east of the meridian, almost as high as the zenith, if
you are as far north as 40° or more. The handle of the “Great Dipper”
is the tail of Ursa Major, who treads lumberingly about the pole, with
his back downward, his head out-thrust west of the meridian, and his
feet, marked by three striking pairs of stars, up in the middle of the
sky. On the meridian south of Ursa Major stands the “Sickle” of Leo
already mentioned. Away round in the northwest, beyond Capella, are
Perseus and Cassiopeia, immersed in the Milky Way.
Having fixed the location and general appearance of all these
constellations in the mind, you are prepared to study them, and their
stars, in more detail. Let us begin in the east. For some occult reason
the rising stars always seem more attractive than those that are near
setting. In the east, then, the eye is at once drawn to the beautiful
Spica, which the impassive, immemorial Virgo wears as her only
ornament. It is a fascinating star with its pure white rays, dashed
with swift gleams of exquisite color as the atmospheric waves roll over
it. There is not another equal to it in the impression of purity which
it gives. We may imagine that some dim sense of this immaculate quality
in the light of Spica led to the naming of the constellation the
“Virgin,” thus called by nearly all peoples, each in its own language:
Παρθέυος, Kóρη, _Puella_, _Kauni_, _She-Sang-Neu_, _Pucella_, _Vièrge_,
_Mæden_, _Jungfrau_, _Virgine_--all, ancient and modern, Greek, Roman,
Indian, Chinese, Norman, French, Anglo-Saxon, German, Italian, and
English worshipping together at this shrine of ideal purity. If the
Assyrians made her the wife of Bel that was hardly a disparagement, for
Bel was the sun. So, too, the identification of Virgo with the Greek
Persephone, the Roman Ceres, and the Jewish Bethula, all goddesses
concerned with the harvest and the fertility of the land, in no way
detracted from her virginal character, nor did her association with
Astræa, the goddess of justice.
Beside Spica, Virgo has no very bright stars, and it is hardly doubtful
that the imaginary purity ascribed to the constellation was derived
entirely from the unsullied whiteness of Spica. While gazing at that
beautiful star all of these associations, coming from times so remote
and peoples so distant, crowd into the mind, increasing the interest
with which one regards it. The nations who named it the vernal star,
before all others, have gone the way of terrestrial things, but the
star remains, as pearly fair as when Aratus sang to it:
“Lo, the Virgin!...
Her favor be upon us!”
Then science comes to carry the thoughts to grander, if less romantic,
heights. Spica, it tells us, is a sun which might well claim to be
included in Newcomb’s wonderful “XM” class--_i. e._, stars excelling
our sun at least _ten thousand times_ in splendor, for, notwithstanding
the brilliance with which it delights us, it is so remote that no
certain estimate of its distance can be made, its parallax escaping
measurement--what, then, must be the intolerable blaze with which it
illumines its immediate neighborhood! But when Science begins her
revelations no man can foretell the wonders that she will discover.
The spectroscope avers that Spica is speeding hitherward at a pace
of more than 32,000 miles per hour! Each night that star is almost
700,000 miles nearer than it was the night before, and yet it is not
perceptibly brighter than it was in the days of Homer. Such are the
star depths! Such is the measureless playground of the spinning suns!
Then Science, inspired by its spectroscopic sibyl, whispers another
startling word in our ears: That core of white fire glowing so softly
in the vernal midnight has an invisible companion star, with which it
circles in an orbit 6,000,000 miles in diameter, and every four days
they complete a swing in their mighty waltz!
The star Epsilon (ε) in Virgo (see Chart VII, at the end of the book)
is _Vindemiatrix_, the “Grape-gatherer,” thus named from some imagined
association with the vintage. _Mukdim-al-Kitaf_, “The Forerunner of the
Vintage,” the Arabs called it, taking their hint from the Greeks before
them. Admiral Smyth, in his _Cycle of Celestial Objects_, has these
curious lines on this star:
“Would you the Star of Bacchus find on noble Virgo’s wing,
A lengthy ray from Hydra’s heart unto Arcturus bring;
Two-thirds along that fancied line direct th’ inquiring eye,
And there the jewel will be seen, south of Cor Caroli.”
The reader may be interested in trying the star-loving admiral’s plan
for finding _Vindemiatrix_.
Gamma (γ) is _Porrima_, a prophetic goddess of ancient Latium,
consulted especially by the women. But for us this star is most
interesting as being one of the first binaries discovered in the
heavens. It is a charming object for a small telescope. The two
components revolve round their common centre of gravity in a period of
about one hundred and eighty years.
As the reader progresses in his studies he will find Virgo full of
interesting objects, including the celebrated “Field of the Nebulæ,”
marked out by the stars Beta (β), Gamma (γ), Delta (δ), Epsilon (ε),
and Eta (η); but to see the nebulæ, which are thickly scattered there,
he must have a powerful telescope.
Southwest of Virgo, but near the southeastern horizon, the
quadrilateral figure of the constellation Corvus, the “Crow,” catches
the eye. Its brightest star is of less than the second magnitude,
yet by their apparent association the four stars immediately attract
attention. One sees no special reason why the figures marked out by
these stars should be likened to the form of a bird; but it was a raven
to both the Greeks and the Romans, and similarly symbolical to other
early peoples. The Arabs, however, at first called it the “Tent,” a
designation which at least had a real resemblance for its basis. But
these stars possess a charm independent of any fancied likeness to
terrestrial things. In looking at them we do not think of the billions
of miles which actually separate them from each other, but only of
their seeming companionship. If, on the other hand, we force ourselves
to consider the immense distances between them the mind is overwhelmed
with the reflection that here, plainly staked out before us, is a field
of space of absolutely unthinkable magnitude with its angles as clearly
marked as if a celestial surveyor had placed corner-stones there.
Note that the star Alpha (α), once the leader of the constellation
in brightness as well as in alphabetical rank, is now so faint that
you have to look for it where it shrinks, in half concealment, below
one of its now brighter neighbors. These abasements are not very
uncommon among the stars. Their glory, too, is mutable; they also have
their ups and downs. The Arabic name for Alpha (α) was _Al Chiba_, or
_Al Hiba_, meaning the “Tent.” Gamma (γ), now the brightest star of
the constellation, was called _Gienah_, the “Wing,” and Delta (δ),
_Algorab_, or _Al Ghurab_, the Arabic name for “Raven,” but Beta (β),
which is perhaps as bright as Gamma (γ), has no special designation.
From Corvus the eye wanders naturally to its neighbor on the west,
Crater, the “Cup.” Both of these constellations rest on the back of
the long serpentine Hydra. Crater is far less conspicuous than Corvus;
but its resemblance to a cup is rather striking, although the imaginary
vessel lies tipped up on its side with the open part toward the east.
Among the many ascriptions of this starry cup in ancient mythology to
various gods and goddesses, none is more interesting than that which
made it the cup of Medea, thus including Crater among the numerous
constellations which were associated in the imagination of the Greeks
with their great romance of the Argonautic Expedition. Its brightest
stars are only of the fourth and fifth magnitudes, and individually not
worth much attention.
Hydra, which stretches its immense coils across about seven hours of
right ascension, passing under Cancer, Leo, Crater, Corvus, Virgo, and
a part of Libra, also carries the mind back through the golden mists of
the morning of Greek mythology to the adventures of Jason and his crew
of Argonauts, for it was once identified with the Aonian Dragon. It
would be interesting to inquire how much of the perennial fascination
of this ancient romance may be due to its traditional association
with the stars. Look first at the head of Hydra, now well west of the
meridian, below the glimmering “Beehive” in Cancer. It is marked by
five stars of various magnitudes making an irregular pentagon. Then
let the eye follow the line down southeastward until it encounters Cor
Hydræ, or _Alphard_, the latter its Arabic name, meaning the “Solitary
One.” It is of the second magnitude and of a reddish color, and the
space about it is vacant of conspicuous stars. There is an attraction
about these solitary bright stars that is almost mystical, their very
loneliness lending interest to the view, as when one watches some
distant snow-clad peak gleaming in the rays of sunset after all the
lower mountains have sunk into the blue shadows of coming night. Cor
Hydræ is the Alpha (α) of its constellation.
Above Hydra, northeast of Cor Hydræ, at the crossing of the ecliptic
and the meridian, is the great star Regulus in Leo, the “Lion.” It
stands at the lower end of the handle of a very distinctly marked
sickle-shaped figure, which includes the breast, head, and mane of the
imaginary lion. Regulus is not only a beautiful star, but it possesses
much practical importance as one of the principal “nautical stars,”
having been employed by sailors ever since the beginning of navigation
to determine their place at sea. The sun almost runs over this star
about the 20th of August, and every month the moon passes close beside
it, and sometimes occults it. Thus it serves as a golden mile-stone
in the sky. It has strangely affected the imagination of mankind in
all ages. From the remotest times it has everywhere been known as the
“royal star” _par excellence_. In Greek it was =βασιλίσκος=, in Latin
_Rex_, from which Copernicus constructed our name, Regulus. There are
three other “royal stars,” Aldebaran, Antares, and Fomalhaut, but
Regulus has always been, in a certain way, their chief. For five
thousand years it has been believed, traditionally, to control the
affairs of heaven, and the astrologers have seized upon this idea
by making it the natal star of kings, and those destined to kingly
achievements and rule. In our age of science we may safely indulge
these fancies; they can now do no harm, and they add immensely to the
interest with which we regard the star that gave birth to them. When
the “Royal Star” crosses high on the meridian in the vernal evenings,
the imagination is thrown back over almost the whole course of the
history of the Aryan race, and the rays of Regulus bring again the
dreams of Babylon and Nineveh, of Greece and Rome, of India, and of
the star-watching deserts of Arabia. Cyrus, in his conquering marches,
may have looked to that star for help and inspiration, for it was the
heavenly guardian of the Persian monarchs.
The spectroscope tells us that Regulus, like Spica, is approaching
us, but less rapidly, drawing nearer about 475,000 miles per day. But
its distance is 950,000,000,000,000 miles (parallax 0″.02), and it
outshines the sun one thousand times.
The second star above Regulus, in the curve of the sickle’s blade,
is Gamma (γ), or _Algieba_ (Arabic the “Forehead”), a beautiful
double, probably binary, with a period of revolution which Doberck has
estimated at about four hundred years. The larger star of the pair is
golden-orange and the smaller bronze-green, a marvellous contrast, and
an ordinary telescope shows well the spectacle, the distance between
the components being 3″.78. And this wonderful pair is rushing toward
the solar system at the rate of _two million miles per day_. Yet so
great is its distance that we have no record that in a thousand years
men have noticed a brightening of the headlight of this terrible
locomotive of space! But probably the more refined methods of the
present time, if applied for a similar period, would reveal an ominous
expansion of that oncoming light. Gamma is interesting as marking,
roughly, the spot in the sky which was the apparent centre of radiation
for the November meteors, which were last seen in their splendor in
1866-67, their return in 1899-1900, for which the world had long been
waiting, having been prevented by the disturbing attraction of Jupiter
and Saturn, which shifted their orbit.
The “Sickle” in its entirety is an attractive asterism, and hanging so
conspicuously in the sky on a spring evening it may be imaginatively
regarded as a harbinger of the opening of the season when the thoughts
of men are turning to preparations for future harvests. In the height
of the harvest season the “Sickle” sets near sundown, then no longer
standing upright, but lying along upon the horizon--a symbol of the
wearied husbandman’s approaching hours of rest:
“Nor shall a starry night his hopes betray.”
Away off at the eastern end of the constellation, in the lion’s tail,
shines its second star in rank, Denebola (Arabic _Al Dhanab_, the
“Tail”). It too is speeding hitherward, but only half as fast as Gamma.
Like Aldebaran, the name Denebola has an indefinite charm, from its
full round vowel sounds, and a certain nobility in the look of it as
it lies on the printed page. As with many sonorous Indian names in
American geography, these old star names lose something of their effect
when they are translated. It is better to take them as they stand,
transcending terrestrial analogy and definition, like the sublime
objects that they designate.
Northeast of Denebola lies the small constellation of Coma Berenices,
“Berenice’s Hair,” remarkable for the confused glitter of the small
scattered stars of which it consists. It is a constellation with a
romantic history which I shall not retell here. It forms an attraction
for an opera-glass.
We now return to the region of sky above the head of Hydra, west of
the meridian. There the attention is arrested by a glimmering spot,
a kind of starry cobweb, which represents the “Beehive” cluster in
Cancer. Its classical name is _Præsepe_, the “Manger.” In _Astronomy
with the Naked Eye_ will be found a copy of Galileo’s drawing of the
stars of Præsepe as they appeared to him with his newly invented
telescope. It is delightful to look at them on a clear night with a
large opera-glass or a small telescope. They are an example of that
clustering tendency so often seen among the stars, and which reaches
its most wonderful manifestations in such assemblages as the famous
globular clusters in Hercules and Centaurus, where countless thousands
of small stars appear to be so crowded together that in the centre they
run up into a perfect blaze. But in Præsepe there is no such apparent
crowding, though the stars are so numerous that they resemble a swarm
of bees. The probability is that none of the stars in this company is
as large as our sun--although we cannot be perfectly sure because we
do not know their distance--but they are, nevertheless, true stellar
bodies, solar children, which seem playing together, overwatched by
larger stars, waiting not far away. Plato, or his disciples, taking the
suggestion from older dreamers, regarded Præsepe as a gateway of souls
through which descended the spirits that were to animate the bodies
of men during their earthly life. There are moods in which one can
hardly consider our coldly scientific way of treating such celestial
wonders as being essentially superior to the more spiritual ideas
and suggestions of the visionaries of antiquity, before man became
possessed with the notion that all science is summed up in measurement.
Unquestionably we have more “facts,” but have we more inspiration? Are
we as near to the stars as were those who knew less about them? Have we
yet got the key to unlock the universe? Do many of us comprehend the
_dictum_ of one of our own modern sages--“Hitch your wagon to a star”?
Cancer has no conspicuous stars, and it covers but a small space on the
sky, yet as a constellation it is as old as any, and it has given us
our “Tropic of Cancer,” because in ancient times, before the Precession
of the Equinoxes had drifted the zodiacal signs and constellations
apart, the place of the Summer Solstice, where the sun is at its
northern extreme of declination, was situated in Cancer, though now we
find it in Gemini, close to the borders of Taurus.
Westward from Cancer we see the great group of mighty stars and
constellations of which Orion is the chief and centre, but Sirius the
brightest jewel. They are now declining rapidly toward the horizon, and
will be better studied at another season. They include, besides Orion,
Gemini, Auriga, Taurus, Canis Major, and Canis Minor, and will be found
more favorably situated in the chart devoted to the sky at the Winter
Solstice. For the present, then, we turn our eyes to the northern
central part of the vernal heavens. There, almost overhead, shines
the “Great Bear,” Ursa Major, always recognizable by the remarkable
figure of the “Great Dipper,” or, as they prefer to call it in Old
England--where brimming dippers of sparkling water lifted dripping
from the “old oaken bucket” are not so familiar as in New England--the
“Wain,” or the “Plough.” We have already remarked that at this season
the Bear has his feet uppermost in the middle of the sky and his back
downward toward the pole. The Dipper, too, is now upside down, drained
of its last imaginary drop, though its stars may be the more brilliant
for that. The figure of the bowl is situated on the flank of the
Bear, and its handle represents his impossible tail. Six of its stars
are of the second magnitude, and one, at the junction of the bowl
and the handle, of the third. Their Greek letters, beginning at the
northwestern corner of the bowl, are, _Alpha_ (α), _Beta_ (β), _Gamma_
(γ), _Delta_ (δ), _Epsilon_ (ε), _Zeta_ (ζ), and _Eta_ (η), and their
names, in the same order, _Dubhe_, _Merak_, _Phæd_, _Megrez_, _Alioth_,
_Mizar_, and _Benetnasch_.
I once knew a country school-teacher who thought that he had acquired
a pretty good knowledge of astronomy when he had learned these names
by heart. He certainly knew more of uranography than most people. The
names seem to be all of Arabic origin, and at the risk of destroying
their charm I will give, from Allen’s _Star Names_, their probable
significations. _Dubhe_ means simply “Bear”; _Merak_ (sometimes
_Mirak_), “Loin”; _Phæd_ (sometimes _Phecda_ or _Phad_), “Thigh”;
_Megrez_, “Root of the Tail”; _Alioth_, meaning uncertain, probably
something to do with the tail; _Mizar_ (originally _Mirak_), “Girdle”;
and _Benetnasch_ (sometimes _Alcaid_), “Chief of the Mourners,” from an
Arabic phrase having that signification.
The star Megrez, now so much fainter than the others, was once as
bright as any of them. It has faded within three hundred years.